Monday, early August, a few years ago

As the chief field engineer of a design-build construction firm, my work required me

to go out of town several times a month when problems arose. This week was no
exception, with my flight leaving from Hartsfield-Jackson at 7:21 a.m. the next
morning. Considering Atlanta traffic, I'd have to be up around 4 a.m. so I left work a
little early on Monday afternoon and headed home.

"Reagan? I'm home," I called as I entered the kitchen. Her car was in the garage but
she didn't return my greeting so I made my way upstairs. The shower was running in
the en suite bathroom beyond our bedroom so I quickly stripped and stepped in,
opening the shower door behind her.

"Ahh! You scared the shit out of me," she yelped before turning about and taking me
in her arms, pressing her big, wet titties against my chest. They felt great against me
but it was her hand that reached down below that drew most of my attention. "Guess
that's okay, Trent, since it feels like you brought me a present. A nice, big present.
Does it need any special lovin' before it does its magic on my pussy?"

"You know I always love your lovin', girl," I replied, leading her to drop to her knees
right there in our oversized shower and go to work for a few moments as the
continuous spray of hot water hit our bodies and streamed over us. I twisted to block
most of it from hitting her so she could do her thing; at 6'-2 and 210 pounds, that
wasn't too hard. With that issue solved, she gave me a couple of kisses, a few
promissory licks, and then swallowed my hardened rod into her mouth and loved on
it as if it was the all that mattered in the world.

Between her efforts and the heat of the water pouring over me, I felt completely
relaxed, and this week's crisis in Baton Rouge temporarily faded from my mind. It felt
so good I'd have gladly let her continue to an explosive conclusion but I was sure
that wasn't what she wanted considering what she'd said at the start.

"Up, girl, and flip around." I helped her rise and she grinned back over her shoulder
at me in rapt anticipation as she leaned against the shower wall and spread her legs,
arching her back and pointing her ass and her delectable pussy toward me.

"Get it in me, Trent. Please, I need you to fuck me like there's no tomorrow."

I slid inside and pushed, sliding all the way in one smooth stroke. She was wet! She
winced in pleasure as I filled her and then her eyes fluttered closed as she started
squirming her sweet ass against me.

With one arm tight under her belly to hold her and the other on the wall to steady us
both, I started driving in and out of her as her vaginal muscles clenched in turn. It
was slow and steady at first, but I went harder and faster as she started moaning in
time with my movements. Her right hand left the granite and dropped below to give
her clit the little extra it needed to get her to where she so desperately wanted to be.

Between the two of us, it didn't take long before her moans announced she was
there and as she gave a final, almost triumphant gasp, I let go and filled her with
spurt after spurt of my baby-making formula that we'd be trying out for real when she
went off birth control as we planned in just a few weeks.

Reagan leaned heavily against the wall as she put her now idle hand over mine and
we laced our fingers together. She caught her breath for some seconds before she
let go and turned toward me, sliding her arms around me.

"That was so good, honey," she whispered, "and I love you so much."

"I love you too, baby," I said in reply, pulling her tight against me.

"Enough to do it again in the bedroom in a few minutes?"

"Yeah, I think that can be arranged."

***

The job in Baton Rouge was a mess as I expected and I spent all of Tuesday
afternoon and into the evening plus half the day Wednesday helping get things back
on track. I think Eatherly, our onsite project manager, learned something in the
process, but we'd be watching him more closely in the future.

After lunch on Wednesday, I shot back down I-10 for a meeting on our job in New
Orleans. Mary Jo Bholecki, who I'd helped train in Atlanta some years earlier, was
now the construction manager for the Orleans project and was scheduled to be
going on maternity leave in another month or two. Therefore, because she was a
friend and because of her coming absence, I was keeping a close watch on her
project to make sure everything was documented so that the person who took over
for her would have clear instructions on what needed to be done.

As I expected, Mary Jo had everything in order so after dinner with Mary Jo and
Ozzie, her husband, on Wednesday evening and a planning meeting with her and
her staff early Thursday morning, I made it to Louis Armstrong for the flight home
and then fought my way through Atlanta traffic to arrive at my office by 1:45.

I reported to Mr. Stricklin, my boss, on the situation on the Baton Rouge project, my
recommendations for upgrading supervision over the on-site team, and my good
report on the work Mary Jo and her team were doing in New Orleans. He agreed to
my suggestions on Baton Rouge, asked a few questions about the leadership
transition when Mary Jo went on leave, and then told me to take the rest of the
afternoon off after I submitted my expense report.

Once in my office, I quickly finished it and said, "Done!"

I reached for my phone to send Reagan a text that I'd be home early before heading
out the door. It was then that Ethan Gardiner, my best friend since third grade and
coworker of the past six years, entered my office and shut the door behind him.

"Hi, Trent. How was your trip?"

"Long but productive; Eatherly should be able to keep things on track in Baton
Rouge for the rest of the project if he watches his supervisors a little better. Now,
though, I'm tired and I'm done, so while I love you like a brother, Ethan, Mr. Stricklin
told me to get the fuck out of here."

His face clouded on that, so I explained with a laugh, "No, he didn't fire me. I just had
so many hours on the trip helping them straighten out the mess that Mr. S told me to
take the rest of the afternoon off to try to stay in the good graces of all you folks in
accounting. Therefore, I'm going to run by the store, get some flowers and a bottle of
wine, and be in a good mood for her when Reagan gets home. Anything about work
can wait until tomor--"

To my surprise, Ethan raised a hand and said, rather forcefully, "Trent, stop. It's not
about work. I'm so sorry, buddy, but I really need to talk to you now. It's...it's, well,
about Reagan. She's--"

"What? What's wrong with Reagan?" Fear stabbed my heart. Something had
happened to her and no one had been able to contact me because I'd been on the
damn plane. But why hadn't I gotten a call since?

With me having interrupted him, he stammered, "Trent, she's been messing around
on you while you're traveling."

Anger lit my face as I looked at the guy I'd thought of as my best friend for practically
forever. Reagan had told me she'd been a real free spirit in college and the years
that followed, enjoying sex whenever and wherever she could get it--we'd even
fucked twice on our first date, I recalled--but as we became more serious and begun
talking about making a life together, she'd put those days behind her, going to a
therapist for a while and committing to settling down and having a family. While
committing to me, she still loved sex, a lot, but she'd definitely put her freewheeling
days behind her.

"That's not funny, Ethan. It's not a bit funny and I don't appreciate it. I think you'd
better get the fuck out of here and do some serious soul searching about our
friendship before you walk into my office again."

His face looked pained as he replied, "I know it's not funny, Trent, and I hate having
to tell you more than you can know, but I...well, I really think it's true. See, I heard it
from Jake Campbell who heard it from his friend Clay who got it from a friend of his.
Clay's friend was the one she fucked around with. From what she accidentally told
him afterward, he's not the only one she's doing so that's why he didn't keep it
secret. He was pissed off that she was cheating on him."

I knew it wasn't true, that it couldn't be true, so I was so pissed off that I was ready to
take Ethan's head off for falling for such a stupid joke. However, I knew my wife a lot
better than Ethan did and so my anger turned to the others who would spread such
lies and to the nameless asshole who started them. On second thought, I wasn't
giving Ethan a pass either; in fact, I was doubly pissed that my supposed best friend
was the one helping them spread such shit.

"Ethan, I'm going to tell you this once. It's not true, not a word of it, and if you ever, I
mean ever, repeat a word of that again, I'll beat the living hell out of you. Now, you'd
better get out of here before I decide to do it anyway."
Ethan was about 5-foot six and weighed 150 pounds, if that. He'd always been a
scrawny kid, the prototypical nerd, so he knew that I, at my size, could do it if I
chose. It looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders as he looked down
at the ground and slowly shook his head.

He looked up at me and I could see the pain in his eyes as he said, "Trent, I'm really
sorry. We've been best friends for a long, long time, so you know I'd never want to
hurt you, but I really think that not telling you would hurt you a lot worse in the long
run. And, buddy, you know that I know you well enough to know that you'd react just
like this. You've always had a hot temper, so how many times did I have to step in to
calm you down to keep you out of detention or worse in high school? Trent, I
wouldn't have told you this, any of it, if I didn't think it was true. I'm going, but...here.
You may not believe me, but here's the name of the investigator who my cousin
hired when he thought his wife was fucking around on him. This lady's good and if
she tells you that Reagan's messing around, well, you'll know it's the gospel truth."

I took a deep breath and held it for a moment, willing the blood racing through my
temples to ease a bit. I'm not sure if it worked, but it did help clear my thoughts and
put things in better perspective.

Ethan was right; we'd been best friends since his family moved in down the block
when we were little and we'd been tight ever since. We'd both been smart--I'd been
the salutatorian of our high school class in the north Georgia mountains, coming in
second only behind him--but he'd been the level-headed nerd who kept us out of
trouble when he could while I'd been the hot-headed jock who physically got us
through a few scrapes when his efforts didn't work. We'd gone to different colleges,
me into engineering with a construction management focus at Tech and him into
accounting at UGA; I'd matured a lot over time without him there to help manage my
temper, though I must admit that a few extra lumps along the way without his
guidance helped that process.

When I heard about an opening in my firm's accounting department, I let him know
about how much I liked the firm. To my surprise, he'd applied and I'd put in a good
word for him so we'd been working together for the past six years, including through
all the time that Reagan and I dated before marrying nearly five years earlier. In
retrospect, I realized that, while I didn't think for a minute that his story was true,
Ethan must have been led to believe it was true and that he was telling me to protect
me, not to deliberately hurt me.

With a slow exhale, I asked, "Your cousin's wife. Was she? Fucking around, I mean."

"Oh, yeah. And Miss Hightower got the goods on her."

"What happened to them?"

Ethan grimaced. "He divorced her skank ass but still has to see her twice every week
when they swap kids. He loves those kids and will do anything to protect them, which
is a damn good thing because he hates her so much he'd have probably killed her
and gladly gone to death row by now otherwise. I'm so sorry, man."
He stepped out of my office as he answered his phone, closing the door back behind
him. That left me alone to stew on his crazy accusations and what he'd said about
his cousin. I felt sorry for the guy having a woman that he loved and trusted who'd
step out and do that to him; however, not knowing the circumstances, most of my
sympathy went to the kids. They didn't choose their parents or the mess they'd been
born into.

The reason was that Reagan and I were discussing expanding our family soon. We
wanted a boy and a girl, if the genetic odds worked out in our favor, but we were
considering going for three if we got matching chromosomes in our first two tries.

I sat at my desk, staring at the door, for a couple of minutes, trying to calm myself
before picking up my things and heading out. I was going home to see my wife,
trying to put everything Ethan had said out of my mind.

Unfortunately, the seed that he'd planted sat there festering, refusing to be forgotten,
as I made my way to the interstate for the trip home.

No, I didn't believe it, not for a minute. In fact, I absolutely refused to believe it and
would have found the whole thing laughable if it wasn't so serious. As I drove north
on I-75 to my exit, I considered letting Reagan in on the stupidity, but something
stopped me. While I was sure it wasn't true, there was no reason to piss her off that
people--including Ethan--were telling such horrible lies about her. After a quick stop
at the grocery store, I kept my mouth shut when Reagan rushed into my arms as I
walked into the kitchen from the garage.

"You're home early," I said, but that was as much as I got out as our lips came
together and we attempted to make up for missing each other since Tuesday
morning. When we separated, she was nodding.

"I figured you'd be home early so I worked late the last two nights in order to take off
early today to greet you. God, I've missed you so much, Trent," she cooed, pushing
me against the kitchen cabinet as she undid my belt. A moment later, my pants and
underpants were around my ankles and my dick was in the heaven of her mouth, her
lips and tongue playing me like a guitar.

Up and down she strummed, vibrating her throat, her tongue, and my world, and I
realized, to my surprise, that I wasn't going to last long before I blew, and that wasn't
what I wanted.

No, I wanted my wife, to be in her, to be safe in her arms, or if she preferred, just to
be safe between her legs and giving her all I had. Putting a hand on each arm, I
smiled into her eyes and gently pulled up. She understood and rose, only to flip a
chair around with the back to the table and then kneel down on it after unzipping her
skirt and dropping it to the floor, revealing that she'd already removed her panties.
Grinning at me when I saw, she put the back of the chair under her breasts and used
her arms to brace herself on the table.

"Fuck me, Trent. Fuck me like I've wanted you to all week."
The head of my dick slid over her wet trench a couple of times before I plunged
inside, sinking in over half way before I stopped. Out a bit and the second thrust
rested my pelvis against her fine ass and my balls against her clit.

"Do it, Trent. Fuck me!" she practically screamed as I withdrew and then slammed
back home. Looking back at me over her shoulder, she continued the delicious,
profanity-laced encouragement, making me hotter by the moment to give her exactly
what she wanted.

With my body pounding against her, I was building to a climax in a hurry. Reagan
was helping herself by then, massaging furiously against her clit, alternating moans
with oh-so-hot curses to drive me on. It finally became too much and the fireworks in
my brain and in balls as I started gushing into her. I slammed a few more times, not
sure if I could go on a single time more before she cried out, her arm collapsing, and
she slumped down over the back of the chair.

With her pussy pulsing in her victory, I felt myself slipping out and then watched my
cum start slipping out of her well-fucked, bright pink hole. Realizing it was about to
drip on our good chair, she reached under and caught it as she grinned at me before
waddling off, her hand cupped between her legs, toward the half bath near the
kitchen.

I grinned back at her, thinking about how beautiful she was, how much fun she was,
and how completely full of shit Ethan's idiot friend or friend-of-a-friend or whatever
was. I knew for a fact that Reagan loved me and that she'd never cheat on me. With
that, I shook my head and put Ethan's stupid story completely out of my mind.

Later that evening, Reagan and I had round two, starting with me eating her out until
she screamed in ecstasy followed by gentle missionary-style sex in bed leading to
hard-driving missionary sex with her wrapping her arms and legs around me for dear
life. Afterward, thoughts of that stupid tale were back.

Ethan and I had been friends for such a long time that I realized he would have
never told me like he did unless he actually believed it. Reagan fell asleep in bed
soon afterward, a pretty smile on her face as she drifted off.

I sat up in bed trying to read my book, but the words on the page refused to be
picked up by my brain. My thoughts were on my wife and on the impossible story my
best friend had told.

As much loving as Reagan had given me, on Monday before my trip and today after I
came home, I knew that the reports he had received were bogus and that I had to
prove it to him or it would endanger our friendship even more than his supposed
warning had. I went to sleep that evening, still trying to figure out what to do but as I
drove to work on Friday morning, it came to me. I'd contact the private detective that
Ethan had suggested. However, I wouldn't be calling her to get her to prove that
Reagan had cheated on me.

No, not believing it anyway, I'd get Ms. P.I. lady to prove that Reagan hadn't.

***
On Friday morning, I called Dawna Hightower's office and accepted the first available
appointment on Monday afternoon. It was in Midtown so I gave myself a little extra
time and walked into the office at about ten minutes until two. Having been well-
employed for several years before marrying Reagan, I had kept my sizable
investment account in my name, which allowed me to surprise her with occasional
gifts or trips without her foreknowledge. This time, I'd use some of the fund to hire
the investigator and Reagan would never need to know about the stupid rumor when
Miss Hightower proved it false.

At 2, the receptionist called me and escorted me into a conference room just down
the hall where a rather stately Black woman dressed in pressed black slacks, an
expensive white blouse, and a red scarf stood up from the table to greet me as the
young lady closed the door behind me.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jareau. Welcome to Hightower Private Investigation Services.

I'm Dawna Hightower. How can we help you?"

She was tall and very nicely proportioned; her grip was firm, too, making me guess
that she'd kept herself in excellent shape since, according to her firm's website,
retiring from the APD several years earlier. From her online biography, I figured she
was in her early to mid-50s though she appeared younger in person to me. She had
a warm smile but her eyes were scrutinizing me the whole time, picking up on my
body language, I suspected, as well as whether I might secretly be carrying.
"Hello, Miss Hightower. I'm Trent Jareau and I appreciate you meeting with me on
such short notice. My problem is relatively simple. I travel two or three times in an
average month, usually for one or two nights. As a result, someone has dreamed up
a story that my wife is cheating on me. I want you to investigate and prove she's not,
that she hasn't been."

Without expression, she started asking me questions, and over the next little while, I
told her everything I knew about the claim and a great many things about Reagan, all
while making me realize the problem might not be as simple as I'd believed. Her
questions were insightful and she asked a number of follow-ups to clarify or gain
additional information, making brief notes along the way, particularly about Reagan's
past sexual history, both before our relationship began and our history together.

I felt drained when she finally put down her pen and said, "Thank you for that
information, Mr. Jareau. According to the client information sheet you filled out
before coming in, you have undergrad and master's degrees in engineering from
Georgia Tech. How familiar are you with philosophy and our legal system and, more
specifically, the burden of proof?"

That wasn't a question I was expecting. "Hmm. I had an introductory philosophy

course as an undergrad and I've been a witness in a couple of court cases with my
firm, but as far as the details and the focus of your question, no, not very."

She nodded. "You've made a specific request for me to prove that your wife
has not had an affair. Mr. Jareau, that's what's called proving a negative. In some
cases, something can be proven to have never happened. For instance, a specific
wineglass has never been broken because it holds wine and you can visually
observe that it's in pristine condition with no cracks. That's easy, but what about a
person?"

She seemed to think for a moment before continuing. "Let's see...I can prove that I
didn't go out of town and rob a bank somewhere yesterday because I have a positive
alibi affirming that I was here in town all day. However, what about one day last
week? Last year? Or even a decade ago? You see, Mr. Jareau, in most cases, there
are no ironclad records over any significant period of time that will prove a
negative...so let's apply that to your case.

"I might have one of my investigators surveil your wife for a week or even a month
and be able to tell you with reasonable certainty that she did not, or as the case may
be, did, have an affair during that time, but I can't prove that she didn't have one the
day or the week or perhaps several years before our investigation began. For that
reason, proving a negative doesn't work in your type of case."

"So the cloud of this stupid accusation really will be hanging over her head forever," I
muttered, having already known deep inside that what Miss Hightower said was true.

"Perhaps, but if we keep her under surveillance during the right circumstances and
nothing happens, then you can infer from the actions she takes, or doesn't take, that
something is probably true. What we'll be able to tell you beyond a reasonable doubt
is that she either did or did not step out on you during the surveillance period and
that might also allow us to turn up evidence of past discretions, if there are any.
However, the stickler is that we'll never be able to tell you with any degree of
certainty that she never has done it. Now, if that scenario will work for you, Mr.
Jareau, we'll gladly take your case. If not, we'll wish you well and wish you luck
finding someone honest who will do as you ask."

***

Seeing her point, I hired Hightower Private Investigation Services and then spent a
couple more hours with one of Miss Hightower's investigators answering more
questions, filling in backgrounds, and planning those "right circumstances" she'd
mentioned.

I was working in the office in Atlanta all week so on Saturday evening after Reagan
went to bed, I tripped a circuit breaker in the panel in the basement. I didn't notice
anything on Sunday morning but by the time we got home after church and lunch
with a couple of new members, the house was noticeably hotter upstairs. Reagan
complained at once and I said I'd go downstairs and check the breaker.

I flipped a few circuits that didn't matter, off and then back on, and then went back
upstairs. "I couldn't find anything wrong so I'm going to call the HVAC service."

"Please. It's going to be too hot to sleep up there tonight if you don't."

I dialed our regular HVAC firm and entered their automated system, pushing some
buttons to go from menu to menu for a bit until I'd been on the line for nearly two
minutes and then hung up. Then, I called the number that Dawna Hightower had
given me.
"Hi, this is Trent Jareau. We have a problem with our upstairs AC system. How soon
can you get someone out here to check on it? Tomorrow morning at ten? Okay, I
guess that will have to do. Thanks, I'll see you then."

Reagan came in to hear the end of it. "It's way too hot up there so we're sleeping in
the guest room down here tonight. It can be like we're in a hotel room somewhere,"
she added with a grin.

With Reagan's suggestion in mind, we tore that bed up that night and I felt better
than I had since Ethan passed along the idiotic accusation against her. There was no
way that Reagan could love me so much and be doing what the asshole who
claimed she was messing around said she was doing. We got up on Monday
morning and Reagan had me strip the sheets and throw them in the laundry on my
way to the shower.

***

I worked from home on Monday morning and met the "HVAC guy," a subcontractor
regularly used by Hightower Private Investigation Services, at 10 as planned. I
showed him our house and he went to work while I went downstairs and turned the
circuit breaker back on.

An hour later, he was done. "These are activated by motion and stay on for five
minutes after the motion ends. They have a fiber optic lens with a wide viewing angle
so they can record what you need with a very low probability of them being observed
unless someone has a specific reason to look for them. These babies will get
everything with the quality being good enough for legal purposes but not good
enough if you want to make any movies of your own or for public consumption on the
net. Three in your bedroom, one in each of the other rooms, and one focused on
each of the bathroom doors. If there's anything going on in view of any of these, we'll
get it."

After paying him the fee for installing them and the rental fee for two weeks, I
thanked him and headed to work.

***

The house was cool when I got home but I wasn't.

"Baby, some issues have come up on our hotel job in Orlando so I'm having to add
that to this week's trip." I was already going to be in Tampa on Tuesday night, but I'd
worked it out to visit the Orlando site, too. "It was short notice for Loretta to be
rearranging things with the airlines so my flight from Orlando won't be in until late on
Friday evening. I'll try to swap for an earlier flight if anything's available, but Loretta
said the odds looked pretty lousy. I'm sorry."

"I'm going to miss you so much," said Reagan, "but let's see about making up for a
little bit of that." With a grin, she took my hand and led me to the couch in the family
room. Our clothes came off between kisses and outright pawing on both sides. With
both of us so excited, she pushed me back on the couch, climbed on, and rode me
hard like she was training for bronc busting.
No, like she was a champion in it.

On her feet on the couch cushion, she squatted like a jockey, bracing her arms on
each side of me against the back of the couch, and started up and down, up and
down, circle around, her tits dancing in perfect time. She did it slow at first and then
picked up the pace.

I held her tits, smiling at her, knowing she was my woman, mine alone, and that our
few days apart or the days that followed would prove Ethan's stupid accusation false,
so I enjoyed our moment.

Grinning, I pinched her nipple with my left hand and moved my right down, placing it
so my thumb would hit just the right spot when the time came. She grinned back at
me before sitting back, burying my dick deep within her, and it felt like about half of
my balls too. She slipped her feet back and started riding on her knees and my
thumb went to work, flicking her clit as she rode up and down.

That caused a moan as she sank balls deep on me again and started grinding,
allowing me to start thrusting up into her. Her moans grew in frequency and volume
and it wasn't long before moans of my own practically became grunts. Her face
became a grimace as she fought to achieve her orgasm but also to hold out on it
until the time was right.

That came quickly as I kept slamming up into her pussy from below, loving her grip,
loving her body, and loving her.

"Come, Reagan! Come now!" I gritted.

She nodded and then fell forward on me, squealing a loud, "Fuuuck!" as she buried
her face against my neck and shoulder while I exploded into her.

As we lay there with her atop me, I felt our cum seeping out on me as I slowly
softened and slipped out of her paradise.

"I love you, Trent," she whispered.

"I love you, too, Reagan," I replied, meaning it. We shared a short kiss before she
hopped up and ran to the bathroom. I grabbed my sock from the floor and, just in
time, wiped up our mess that was about to drip on the couch. As I did, I was smiling,
knowing that there was nothing wrong with our marriage other than some idiot who'd
never, ever know what it was like to make love to my woman.

***

The meetings in Tampa went well and the issues that followed in Orlando were easy.
In fact, I'd have ordinarily handled them remotely but making an onsite appearance
helped keep our supervisory team on their toes. Once everything was resolved, I
spent some time onsite looking at the quality of the construction and making
comments and pointing out issues and potential pitfalls to the assistant project
manager who showed me around. He was young but bright and I made a mental
note that he'd be ready for more responsibility before too long.
I could have flown out on Thursday afternoon if I'd been able to get a flight, but I
didn't bother trying. Reagan wasn't expecting me until Friday evening so I was going
to give her every possible minute of that time to prove to Miss Hightower that she'd
had plenty of opportunity but that she wasn't cheating on me. Therefore I worked in
my hotel room through the afternoon and early Thursday evening made my way to
one of the famous Orlando gun ranges that tout renting machine guns for 3-point-
something seconds of fire in addition to regular pistols and rifles. I stuck with renting
a couple of pistols and let the tourist-dads getting away from their kids and the
Disney or Universal scenes for a break waste their hard-earned cash feeding the
burp guns.

On Friday, I worked in the trailer on our jobsite until it was time to head to the airport.
Traffic on I-285 on Friday evening was probably as bad as it would have been going
through downtown and 75 wasn't much better. I breathed a sigh of relief when I
finally reached our exit and was thrilled when I walked into the house and my loving
wife flew into my arms. She saw I looked stressed so she got me a beer and we
snuggled on the couch and talked for a bit before she led me upstairs.

With Reagan's legs spread wide and her feet up in the air, we made slow, gentle
love as we looked into each other's eyes and tried to make up for the three nights
we'd been apart. Her breasts made lovely circuits as I pumped in and out of her with
her arching her pelvis into me with each thrust. I kissed her just before she came and
I exploded into her, knowing in my heart that this woman was mine, all mine, and
that she always would be.

***

Reagan went to the gym to work out on Saturday while I did yard work. Since I had a
bit of time while coming inside for a drink of water and to see how the Braves were
doing in their game, I opened my laptop and checked my personal email account. To
my relief, nothing was there from the special address that Dawna Hightower's
investigator had given me.

I checked again on Sunday afternoon while she was running some errands and
doing the grocery shopping. This time, I blinked hard, several times, before hesitantly
clicking the message to open it. As I did, I muttered, "Please, Lord, let this just be an
update."

Dear Mr. Jareau,

Your order will be ready Monday at 11 a.m. Please contact our office to arrange
delivery.

Larsen Tool Works

My hand trembled as I closed the message, deleted it, and then permanently deleted
it from the trash folder.

Reagan noticed that I didn't look good when she returned home and I avoided
kissing her.

"Yeah, not feeling too good," I replied. "Don't want you getting sick too."
"Here, let me give you a hug and then you go lie down while I fix dinner. Hopefully
you'll feel better and be able to eat in a little while."

She gave me that hug but, worried beyond belief, I only patted her back and put my
head against hers. As I did, I caught the scent of flowers.

***

I didn't eat Sunday evening and was up very early on Monday morning. I'd thought
about it as I tried to sleep: the smell of flowers in her hair wasn't her usual shampoo,
conditioner, or perfume. I didn't want to believe that anything was going on but the
unusual smell and the ominous message made me question whether there really
could be something going on.

She hadn't been gone that long, had she? No, she couldn't have had time to do her
shopping and do anything, any messing around, on the side. Right? Yes, it had to
have been one of those cosmetics ladies that spray perfume samples at the store.

Confirming my appointment first thing Monday morning, I arrived at Miss Hightower's

office just before 11 a.m. I was escorted into the same conference room as the first
time and, similar to before, Miss Hightower greeted me. This time, she waved to the
seat and said, "Mr. Jareau, we've concluded our investigation early and I'm afraid I
have bad news."

She pushed a file over to me and then set back in silence as I opened it.

My world, always so ordered, crumbled around me as I skipped reading the report

and turned straight to the photos.

There she was, feet high in the air, with a man...in our bedroom.

Another shot in a different position but still in our bedroom followed that.

The next photo, apparently taken with a camera with night vision, showed her riding
him in the back seat of a car. Then there was one of the two of them in front of a
hotel kissing goodbye in one and then parting but their hands still together in the
next--

"Wait! The guy in this photo doesn't look like what I can see of the guy in the first."

"I'm sorry. It's all in the report, but we documented her with three different guys in
four encounters through Saturday, and then a second repeat of the second one
yesterday afternoon, this time at a private residence.

"What?" I exclaimed, the news and all the numbers overwhelming me. "But...but she
went shopping yesterday."

Her look was serious as she nodded. "Mr. Jareau, Mrs. Jareau did a little on
Saturday afternoon after her second encounter with Lover Number 2, but only went
to the grocery store on Sunday. You might check the receipts or perhaps the credit
card if she didn't use cash."
"But, but she was going to the gym on Saturday," I bleated, still trying not to believe
the clearly laid out evidence in front of me.

Miss Hightower shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mister Jareau; based on the photo of her
coming out of that hotel with Lover Number 2, we believe she participated in some
gymnastics, all right, but believe me, she didn't get anywhere close to an actual
gymnasium."

"How could this be?" I demanded, my anger finally overcoming my disbelief. "Letting
three different guys fuck her in one week? And it's not like I didn't take care of her
both before and after!"

Miss Hightower raised a hand to calm me. "I'm not a psychiatrist, Mr. Jareau, just a
damn good investigator and a pretty good judge of human character. Your wife
seems a likely candidate for hypersexuality disorder, often called nymphomania in
former years. She seems to be obsessed with sex, like a drug addict, always in
search of that next orgasmic high, whenever, wherever, and however she can get it,
and she appears to go well beyond the normal pale to do just that and cover up what
she's done to keep you from finding out."

"The flowers," I breathed. "The scent of flowers in her hair. She took a shower and
washed her hair after meeting the guy yesterday."

"Possibly that, but based on the amount of time they were in there, more likely a
quick wash or a spritz of something. See, from what we can tell from following her
and watching the video feeds, she's an expert on what she's doing and she's
obsessive about the looks and smells of sex, even changing the sheets and bedding
on your bed between lovers. More than one cheating spouse has been found out
when a stain or a smell has given up the tale of clandestine love."

"But in our bed?" I started, only to remember that she'd even changed the sheets in
the guest bed after our hot night of passion just a week earlier.

"Yes, two of the three nights you were gone, she had sex in your bed; she picks up
her lover--"

"Please, don't call them that. Cheating, adulterous assholes is what they are."

She gave a little "humph" and a nod at my comment. "At least one, yes. We actually
don't have the name of the first one, but the third is single; however, assuming he
knew of her marital status, that makes him complicit in her cheating and an adulterer
under state law. The other, though, the second one who seems to be her
regular...paramour. Well, he is definitely a cheater and adulterer. We were able to
identify him and find out that he is married."

"Asshole," I breathed, opening the file and digging through it until I found a page with
his photo at the top. My fists clenched and it was all I could do to avoid pounding the
table. "Fuck! I think she works with this asshole."

"I was about to get to that. Noah Woolever, age 32, married, and, from what we can
tell, your wife's supervisor at her firm as of a few months ago. Being a large,
important firm with multiple offices, they don't advertise their corporate management
structure so it's possible he's in another, possibly parallel department."

I shook my head. "No, you got it right. Mrs. Allenby was promoted in late spring, I
think, and Mr. Woolever became her new manager. Reagan never called him by his
first name and she said he wasn't very social so I haven't met him yet but she did
point him out to me once when I picked her up when her car was in the shop."

It was Miss Hightower's turn with the headshake, though this one looked like
disbelief. "Not very social with the spouses of his lovers, no doubt," she chuckled. "A
convenient excuse to keep the two of you apart. Anyway, Mr. Woolever has no
record or outstanding warrants but he does have some unpaid parking tickets. Your
wife met him at a bar on Wednesday evening and drove him to your home for just
over an hour before driving him back and letting him out by his car, which was how
we got his name through DMV records. We found his firm info from a web search
and the professional network online."

"That bastard," I breathed, clenching and opening my fists to keep from accidentally
breaking something like my fingers.

Miss Hightower continued. "Easy, Mr. Jareau. We're not done yet. Next, she met him
at the hotel on Saturday afternoon, and then again yesterday, but this time, like I said
earlier, at a residence. According to tax records, his residence, Mr. Jareau. If Mrs.
Woolever had arrived just minutes earlier or your wife had left minutes later, Mrs.
Jareau's game would probably have been up."
"Tuhh," I hissed. "Her game's already up but she just doesn't know it. You know,
Miss Hightower, I was pretty wild in my younger years, chasing any woman who
seemed to express interest. It took a long while but I finally realized it wasn't getting
me anywhere. While I love a good--ah...sex--I eventually found myself wanting more
than just a cheap thrill and I met Reagan at a perfect time for that. She admitted to
having been fairly wild in college, too, and that she'd had a number of lovers during
that time, but she said she loved me, that she wanted to settle down, that...that..."

I couldn't go on and Miss Hightower patted my hand. I gave her a weak smile in
thanks and looked back at the sheet on Noah Woolever. My face hardened as I
thought of what I'd like to do to the cheating, lying, adulterous, two-timing--

Miss Hightower gripped my hand again, harder this time, causing me to look up into
her eyes. "Mr. Jareau, I'm sorry for you that this has turned out like it has, but I need
to warn you, as I do with all my clients, to not let the pain you're feeling make you do
something that's not who you really are. When a person finds out their significant
other has been cheating on them, they often want payback, to make the cheater
hurt, but if you do and you go too far...well, if you do, it can potentially ruin your life.
Are you getting this?"

With her grip on my hand, she made me nod before she went on. "Don't let her
mistake destroy you and the future you could have. If you strike back too hard, you
could find yourself going too far and potentially end up in jail for a time or maybe
even in prison, possibly for years. You can lose your job and most everything you've
worked your whole adult life for. You don't have children so you don't have that to
worry about, but that doesn't mean you still can't make huge trouble for yourself.
Whatever you decide, just be careful and remember that it's her mistake, not yours."

So much was swirling in my head.

Cheating? Confirmed.

Children? So close but not now.

Revenge? Maybe not, but repayment? Yes, definitely.

I wouldn't be the idiot who let my anger destroy me. I'd be careful, controlling my
emotions, but I'd be as fucking conniving and brutal in my carefully measured
response as she'd been in fooling me for however long she'd been doing it. I knew I'd
never hurt her physically--I wasn't that kind of person--but making her hurt?

"Yeah, I will be. Careful I mean. But believe me, Miss Hightower, if that's the way my
soon-to-be former wife wants it, any way she can get it, that's the way it will be. I'll be
sure not to take it a bit too far, but believe me, it's going to be so fucking close and
she's going to feel every bit of the pain she's caused me to feel. Every. Fucking. Bit."

Miss Hightower sighed, realizing that she couldn't stop me but she made one last try
at tempering me. "Okay, please, be careful, Mr. Jareau, that you remember what you
said, that you don't go too far. It's a lot easier to slip over the edge than you might
expect. I don't want what you do to come back to bite you...or haunt you."

***

For a divorce attorney, Miss Hightower recommended George C. Godwin. He agreed

to see me after hours so I spent the next two hours on a bench in Piedmont Park
plotting my escape...and my revenge. Then I downloaded all of my records and went
to see him.

Mr. Godwin was an elderly Black man--Miss Hightower's youngest uncle, it turned
out--and was as short, hefty, and jovial as she'd been tall, regal, and reserved, but
he knew family law inside and out. He also knew the Georgia legal system like the
back of his hand since he'd been practicing law for nearly 50 years. George was very
informal, insisting that we call each other by our first names and chatting for a bit
before getting into why I was choosing divorce over an attempt at reconciliation.

When I showed him the file with the photos, he gave a long low whistle. "Guess that
answers that. Okay, what we're gonna need--"

I handed him the flash drive with all the records that Miss Hightower had suggested
so he plugged it into his laptop, said "Hmm" a few times, and then said it a couple
more before blowing a kiss like an Italian in his niece's general direction. "That girl
really knows her stuff. Trent, this looks complete so I'll put it together and let you
know when we're ready to serve and file."

"Can you have it by next Monday?"

"Oh, I can have it by then but the overtime's going to cost you."
"Do it, please."

Then I went over my plan with him, including an extra request.

When I was done, his face was expressionless. "You've got to be careful, Trent,
really careful. I know you're angry and you have every right to be, but you're starting
into a legal proceeding where you can't go too far since a judge will be deciding the
case based on law, but if you don't think that appearances and attitudes come into
play, then I've got a really fine bridge to sell you over the big river that runs through
downtown Atlanta."

I forced a smile, knowing there aren't any rivers, big or otherwise, in downtown
Atlanta.

***

I got home late on Monday evening. Claiming exhaustion and needing rest after my
little illness, I avoided kissing Reagan on her lips and stayed entirely out of her skank
pussy. However, she needed something so I agreed to a blow job. For those few
minutes, I was able to put most everything about how she'd cheated on me out of my
mind by imagining that she was a $20 hooker desperately trying to get a tip. When I
got close, I forgot-- deliberately, I'm afraid--to warn her and ended up spraying some
in her mouth and much of the rest on her face.

To my surprise, she laughed. "God, it's been a while since that happened!" She
wiped a streak from her cheek and licked it off, reminding me of how sexy she
always was before the memory of her betrayal returned in force.

Still feigning vestiges of my illness that had never actually been, I showered and
brushed my teeth, trying to get all traces of skank whore off of me and out of my
system. I was up early and silently on Tuesday morning, slipping out of the house to
head to catch my plane to Charlotte without waking her.

On Thursday evening, I made the call I'd been dreading. "Ethan, hey, it's Trent.
Listen, buddy, I need to apologize, big time. You were right and I was as wrong as I
could be. The bitch played me."

Ethan, being the closest thing I have to a brother, forgave me at once and asked
how he could help.

I delayed getting home until late Friday, and then complained of exhaustion to avoid
having to fuck the bitch. Reagan wasn't happy and tried to turn me on by waving her
vibrator at me, inviting me to use it on her.

"I'll just watch, okay?"

As skanky as it had turned out to be, she still had a really beautiful pussy and as
much as I'd come to hate her dark soul, I still found myself enjoying watching her
work her pink hole, thinking that she could easily find a career in online porn if her
day job ever fell through. Only my seething anger and disgust kept me from jumping
her and fucking the shit out of her.
On Saturday morning, I went to see my parents to help my dad with a home project
that supposedly carried over to Sunday morning. I really wanted to let him know what
was going on, but I knew that I needed to wait until everything went down. Then the
time would be right and it would be too late to let anything slip out that shouldn't.

Therefore, I called Reagan late Saturday afternoon to let her know I wouldn't be
home until the next afternoon but when I did, I got the distinct impression when she
answered that she wasn't home and that she probably wasn't alone. I held my
tongue, giving a perfunctory but completely false "Love you" before ending the call.

On Sunday afternoon while Reagan was out, doubtless meeting one of the lowlife
fuckers who was doing her, Mr. Godwin sent me a text. I quickly called him and he
confirmed that all would be ready. The process server he was employing had agreed
to serve the papers promptly at 11 a.m. on Monday morning in accordance with my
special request, and to send me a text message as soon as he met her.

I immediately called in for a personal day, and then headed out, leaving a note for
Reagan that I'd had something come up for work and to call me at the office if she
needed me. I drove to the office and spent the rest of the evening finalizing my
plans.

Reagan called twice that evening, and I told her both times that it was taking longer
and that I'd be even later than I'd told her before. I promised that I'd take off early on
Monday afternoon and that we'd spend the whole evening in bed together.

That must have been what she wanted to hear because her unhappy mood turned
light and cheerful and she told me she loved me before we finally ended the call.

I was lying to her, of course, but considering the web of lies and deceit that she'd
spun around me, I shook my head and said, "Them's the breaks, baby. Turnabout's
tough shit."

She stirred when I got into bed with her late that night for what I knew would be the
last time, but I didn't quite wake her.

On Monday morning, my plan went a bit astray first thing when my dream turned out
to be reality. Reagan had started loving on my cock to wake me and a moment later,
she climbed atop and started riding me.

"God, Trent, I've needed this." Up and down she rode me, her thighs flexing her up
and down, the walls of her incredible pussy clenching with each movement.

I briefly considered pushing her off, throwing the bitch to the floor, but doing so would
ruin all my plans. Knowing that I was going to be tested for venereal diseases
anyway, I let her do the work for one last time while I reached up and played with her
tits, enjoying the feel while urging myself, Don't go too far. I pinched and twisted her
nipples a little harder than usual, but the witch cried out in pleasure, screaming,
"Harder!"

So I did.
When I felt myself about to come, I grabbed her and rolled over, pulling out just in
time and spraying cum in a big blast that hit her cheek, her tits, and her tummy.
Some even got on the sheet. It had been since the blowjob on Friday night so the
release was strong and felt incredible, causing me to smile in ecstasy despite the
pain in my heart. She took it as happiness and kissed me several times, not noticing
that I wasn't really kissing her back.

When I rolled out of bed, I thought to myself, Reagan, you bitch, it looks like you're
going to need to wash the sheet like you always do for your other fucking lovers.

***

After Reagan left for work, I walked through the house with a wide piece of bright
painter's tape and applied a piece to anything that was specifically mine or mine prior
to our marriage. Anything that was community property, I figured she'd get as part of
our settlement or it would be donated to the charity thrift store.

At 7:45, Ethan showed up and a crew from a moving company arrived just minutes
later. I helped them get started and then Ethan took over supervising while I finished
packing what I needed for the short term. Everything on the truck would be taken to
storage. Reagan hadn't noticed but I'd cleaned out my gun safe and taken everything
in it to my parent's house to put in my dad's safe on Saturday.

I was almost done and about to head out with plans to leave the rest with Ethan
when Amy, a next-door neighbor and a friend of Reagan's, saw the truck and came
out to ask if we were moving. Fortunately, I reached her before she could look into
the truck or see that I'd put a bunch of stuff in the back of my SUV in the garage.

"Shh!" I said with a grin. "I'm surprising Reagan with some new furniture for our
upcoming anniversary. Five years next week! I'm getting some old furniture and
some clutter out of the house before they deliver it tonight. It's a surprise and is a bit
early due to their delivery schedule so please don't mention it to her or anyone else
until after she says something to you about it."

She agreed, matching my grin, and went on my way. The news would probably be all
over the neighborhood by noon so I was glad H-Hour was 11.

I gave each of the movers a generous tip and then shook hands with and thanked
Ethan before heading to the bank. I was there when they opened at 9 a.m. and took
out half of the money in our accounts in the form of a cashier's check. I was at a
credit union minutes later and deposited the cashier's check into a new account I'd
opened online.

At 10:45, I pulled into the parking lot of an office building in Sandy Springs and
opened my laptop. I'd already applied for a new credit card in my name, so with the
current card showing a zero balance, I closed it. That took longer than planned and I
was starting to sweat the time as a result. However, it was done by 10:57 so I logged
into our family email that listed both of us and waited for the text message which
popped in on my phone right at 11 a.m. as planned.

Process Server: Just asked for her. Recpt said on way.

A minute later, another text arrived.

Process Server: She's in lobby now.

Almost shaking with nerves, I uploaded the message I'd already prepared to our
email. I'd considered accessing Reagan's work email and sending the version I'd
written and really wanted to send from there since I knew her password but Dawna
Hightower's warning about going too far and her uncle's confirmation that doing what
I wanted might leave me in very hot water with the judge and maybe even in the
pokie for a night put an end to that idea.

For now.

The message was going to a number of our friends and relatives. It spread the word
that something had happened between us and that I had filed for divorce as a result.
Three photos were included in the file rather than as attachments so they wouldn't be
stripped from the message. Reagan's and Noah's faces were both visible in each of
the photos. However, again heeding the warnings about not going too far, the photos
were carefully cropped and blurred to obscure any naughty bits and pieces but it was
quite obvious what was happening and, with the timestamp, when.

The second message, the one I'd really wanted to send, remained unused on the
flash drive.

Finally, the message wasn't being sent to Reagan or Noah. There was no need to
warn them of the coming storm.

The message was ready and looked right so I hit Send. After confirming that it went
out correctly, I quickly logged out, closed the laptop, and put it under my seat. My
phone was ringing at 11:03; it was Reagan so I answered the call.

"Trent! What the fuck is this? Divorce? Why? I thought we were happy together? Did
you find someone else?"

I laughed at her hysteria. "You thought we were happy? No, I thought we were happy
until I found out what you were doing. Yes, I know. Look in the back of the envelope,
what I had my attorney slip into the packet."

I heard her cussing and fretting over the phone, promising me undying love, just as
she'd done in front of God, the pastor, and many of our friends and relatives at the
church those now-wasted five years before.

"Fuck!" she screamed over the phone. "Fuck! Trent, no! It's not what it looks like!"

"Seriously? That's not your scummy boss's dick in your mouth? I'm sure it was just
an accident that you're both naked in OUR FUCKING BEDROOM and that he just
needed his cock inflated."

"No, Trent, let me explain--"

"No, Reagan. I don't think there's enough time in the world for you to adequately
explain this. We're done. My attorney's contact information is in that packet. If you
need anything, go through him."

I hung up with her still talking, or rather, practically screaming through the phone.
When she realized I wasn't there any more, she called back again, so I sent it to
voicemail. She left one, a long one it seemed, and a text message from her popped
in moments later.

The voicemail was more of the same, denials and lies, so it was deleted as were the
text message and the three texts and the next voicemail that followed in rapid
succession. Not wanting to hear her shedding any more crocodile tears, to listen to
any more lies, excuses, or apologies, and definitely not wanting to hear any more
promises since she'd already broken the sacred one that really counted, I didn't
listen to the new message or read the texts before deleting them.

Then I blocked Reagan's number.

Right after that, I dialed my father-in-law's number. With Bob and Chesi being my
friends as well as my in-laws, I hadn't sent them the message either.

"Hi, Bob, it's Trent. I hate to be calling you at work like this but it's important and I
think you need to hear this from the horse's mouth rather than second hand. And I'm
doing it now rather than later because the shit just hit the fan."

I think I heard him gulp over the phone. "What's going on, son?"

"Bob, I'm really sorry to have to tell you this but due to Reagan's inability to live up to
her marital vows, I'm having to end our marriage."

"Trent, no! I know my daughter's history, but she's changed. You can't be serious
about this, holding something over her from long ago."

"Bob, I'd never do that, but she's relapsed, big time, and it's not long ago. Two weeks
ago, when I was out of town, it was like she went wild. I have the places, the dates,
and the times to prove it, along with photos and even videos of some of them. It's
been killing me ever since I found out and I hate to have to tell you, especially by
phone, but you need to know that it's not something I'm doing because I want to, it's
because I can't trust her anymore and I can't go on like this. Therefore, I'm ending it
now; the paperwork was filed this morning and she's been served."

"No! I can't believe this. She promised that she was past that stage." There was a
sound of desperation, complete denial, in his voice.

"She promised all of us, Bob, but her promises apparently didn't mean enough for
her to live up to them. If she'd only stayed true to them, and to me, I'd have loved her
forever. You know that. It's way too late for that now though and the love I had for
her is gone, dried up and swept away. However, I still love you and your wife and
don't want to hurt either of you so I'm telling you this directly rather than through an
email."
My soon-to-be-former father-in-law expressed great sorrow at what his daughter had
done to us as a couple and to his family and me as friends. With regret in both our
voices, we said goodbye. I quickly called Chesi, too, but it went to voicemail; I
suspected that Bob had her on speed dial so I left a short message.

It was now 11:16 a.m. and I was up to the only part of my plan that caused me
hesitation. If I went through with this part, I was going to be hurting someone I didn't
know, someone who probably didn't deserve it, but not doing it might result in even
worse hurt in the long run.

Therefore, I put on sunglasses, a baseball cap, and a lanyard with my laminated

photo ID for a delivery company that doesn't, to my knowledge, exist but with Ethan's
phone number at the bottom. He knew to answer any calls that he didn't know
between 11 and 11:30 a.m. with "Sunshine Process Serving." I threw a piece of
bubble gum in my mouth and entered the building.

At the security desk, I said, "Hi, T.C. Jareau from Sunshine Couriers and Process
Serving. Got a special service delivery package for a Mrs. Melissa Woolever."

The security guard frowned. "Those have to go to Receiving in the back on the
bottom level."

"Nope, the courts say differently," I said, doing my best imitation of Chevy Chase in
the old Fletch movie. "Special service requires photo I.D. and a personal signature.
This is usually handled best if done quietly, but we can make it a scene if you'd
prefer and I'll end up having to run all over town to track her down, causing her more
trouble in the long run."
"No, wait," said the guard. "What do you need?"

"I go up to her firm, meet her in the lobby, I.D. her, and get her signature. I'm out of
here in five minutes. No muss, no fuss."

He nodded slowly. "You have to have a visitor's badge to go up. I need to hold your
I.D. while you have the badge."

"Gotcha," I agreed, handing my driver's license over to him.

With more than a little reluctance, he took it and handed the badge to me. "Come
straight back. You get this back," he said, holding my license up, "when you put that
badge back in my hand. Got it?"

I tipped my cap to him and blew a little bubble before turning and heading to the
elevator.

On the third floor, I approached the front desk at Melissa Woolever's firm a few
moments later. The same spiel was used there. The young lady at the desk looked
even more hesitant than the guard in the main lobby, but she hit a button and called
Mrs. Woolever to the reception room.
Spotting a trash can in the lobby, I dumped the bubble gum and the baseball cap
came off, going in the bag that I was pretending was my courier pouch. The Fletch
persona was gone.

Melissa Woolever was very pretty, in her late 20s or early 30s with tanned skin, dark
brown hair, and dreamy brown eyes making me think she might have some Hispanic
blood somewhere in her ancestry. She wore an uneasy expression as she entered
the firm's lobby. When the receptionist pointed, Mrs. Woolever looked at me and
hesitated for a moment before walking my way.

"Joan said you had something for me to sign," she said hesitantly.

"No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Woolever, I'm Trent Jareau. You don't actually need to sign but I
do need to give you this since it affects you."

"What...what is it?"

"Mrs. Woolever, I'm sorry to tell you this but your husband has been having an affair
with my wife." My words were whispered and I handed her a closely cropped photo
of the two of them in bed together. "There are documents proving everything,
including explicit photos and video, in the envelope."

Tears were running down her cheeks as she shook her head in denial. "This has got
to be fake. Noah promised me--"

"It's not fake, Mrs. Woolever. I paid good money for the detective agency to find out
what was going on with my wife, asking them to prove that she wasn't having an
affair after I heard a rumor about it. They proved just the opposite, that she was.
There's an affidavit in the envelope that everything you see here is real, unedited,
and obtained legally with my permission. I've been assured by the private
investigation firm and by my attorney that it will be admissible and will stand up in
court, if you choose to go that route. As of this morning, I am."

"But he promised," she whispered, tears pouring. She leaned toward me and I put
my right arm around her and patted her back. "He said the first one was a mistake,
that it was just the heat of the moment, and that it wouldn't happen again. We...we
took steps to make sure it wouldn't and now he backslides and does it again? Why?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Woolever, but it wasn't the heat of the moment this time. It was
carefully planned and it wasn't just once. You'll see documentation on three
meetings between them in five days in the envelope."

Her hand gripped my shirt as she shook her head, short and fast, against my chest,
as she realized the extent of her husband's betrayal. At about 5'-6" tall and 125
pounds, I had a good 7 or 8-inches on her. She wiped her tears before looking back
up at me, the flow stopped but her cheeks still wet from the recent deluge.

"Mister--I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

I told her and she continued. "I'm going to sign out for lunch and we're going to go
somewhere so you can fuck my brains out. I'll send a picture afterward, of just me if
you prefer, to show him--"
"Mrs. Woolever, you're a beautiful woman and I'm quite honored by the invitation,
even if it is spoken in anger rather than desire, but no, ma'am, you're not going to do
that," I said, holding her a bit tighter as I tried to help her get past the anger to the
much-more-important "look ahead" stage. "I can't let you do that and can't do that to
you. As much as it seems like that would be getting back at him, you have to live
with yourself for the rest of your life, so you don't want to go too far, to do anything
that you'll always regret later. You don't want to do anything that the Georgia legal
system would take issue with either."

Maybe that woke her from her grief for she let go and stepped back a step. "You're
right, I guess. I gave him another chance, but this is the end and we'll end up in court
this time. I don't know how..."

"I've included the name and contact information for the private investigation service
in case you need them for more investigation or if you need someone to testify. I've
also included the name of the attorney they recommended. He seems like a good
guy and has been very responsive on my case to this point. He filed the paperwork
and had it served this morning."

Crestfallen, she took the envelope and thanked me before starting to turn away.
However, she stopped and said, "Mr. Jareau, I hate to ask this but may I call you if I
get stuck and need advice?"

"My number's in the envelope."

***

Having visited the testing lab that Dawna Hightower recommended, I sweated it for
the next few days while shepherding a project in south Georgia. It was nice to be
able to get away at the end of each long day but the thought of possibly having
contracted something awful or even potentially deadly made me even angrier at
Reagan and the risks she'd taken for a few--or maybe a lot--of cheap thrills.

However, luck was with me later in the week when the testing lab let me know that I
didn't have any sexually transmitted diseases. I breathed a sigh of relief that at least
that hazard hadn't bitten me.

Reagan was still trying to reach me though, leaving message after message on my
voicemail at work and on my cell from other numbers. When I checked for
messages, I'd delete hers as soon as I heard her voice but she refused to take the
hint. When I got back to my office on Friday morning, I found more waiting for me so
I deleted them in turn and pulled out the user's manual for the phone to find how to
block a number. Minutes later, that problem was solved too, and I decided to go see
my parents again over the weekend.

They'd been receiving messages from Reagan, too, so I took it on myself to block
her number there as well. Mom was particularly upset, especially since she knew
that Reagan and I were ready to have children. She even asked me to reconsider
the divorce, saying what Reagan had done couldn't have been that bad. I shook my
head in reply and showed her one carefully cropped photo with the date stamp
visible. Tears running down her face, she nodded, finally understanding the truth
despite her desire to deny it. She was holding Dad tight as I waved goodbye and
headed for my temporary quarters.

The next day at work, Andy Smith came running into my office with bad news just
before noon.

"Trent, Mary Jo Bholecki's water just broke, several weeks before she'd planned to
take maternity leave. What are we going to do?"

The response probably should have been to say a prayer for MJ and the babies,
send them a gift, and send him home to pack since he was supposed to take over for
her during her maternity leave. Andy hadn't seemed too happy about it when it
originally came up since it forced him to finish his current project a couple of weeks
early, but Mr. Stricklin felt he was the best candidate for the job. Now Andy looked
panicked since his project was still almost a month from that early completion.

After looking over the schedules for our projects, Andy and I went to see Mr. Stricklin
with an alternate proposal. To avoid upending Andy's project, I'd take over the New
Orleans job instead of him, with the provision that I'd still be available for major
issues on our other projects when needed and I could help out in Baton Rouge, too.

Word came early that evening that Mary Jo and her new twins were doing okay. I
was getting closer to The Big Easy to take over the project and farther away from
Reagan and my past by the mile. It was late by the time I got to my hotel and I
crashed for a few hours of sleep before getting up early to head to the job site.

I spent the morning doing a deeper dive into the project, meeting with a couple of
subcontractors, and looking over the plans for the weeks ahead. Everything was in
order, as I expected, so I left early that afternoon to stop at the store and head to the
hospital to see Mary Jo. She'd already received the flowers I'd sent so I gave her a
thank you note for her good work on the project and a gift certificate for her kids, who
were in the neonatal intensive care unit for a while until they were a little bigger and
could go home. While I couldn't go in to see them, I did get to see them on the
monitor as MJ and Ozzie watched over them lovingly.

I was so happy for them but the thought of probably never having a child of my own
hurt as I was leaving so I switched my mind back to the project. It became my all for
the next couple of days and on Friday, I invited our construction office management
staff out for drinks in the French Quarter after we shut the job down for the weekend.

On Monday, George Godwin called with an update on my divorce. He was having a

time of it in Atlanta, with his office fielding numerous calls from Reagan trying to
reach me, seemingly becoming more hysterical with each successive call.

"You sure you don't want to talk to her?" he asked.

I chuckled sarcastically at his question and I could hear him over the line practically
rolling with laughter. I thanked him and got back to work.

There was a text message on my phone when I got to my extended stay hotel room
that evening. I didn't recognize the number but the message said,
Hi Trent, my attorney filed my paperwork today and Noah has been served. Can we
talk when you get a chance? Thanks, Melissa W.

It was late so I sent a text reply to see if she was still up; my phone rang seconds
later.

"Hi, Trent. Thanks for speaking with me."

"Glad to do it, Melissa. How are things with you?"

"Tough, but I'll manage," she replied, hesitation in her voice. "How about for you?"

Since she'd deflected my offer for her to open up, I replied, "Sounds about like you.
Melissa," I probed, "what's going on?"

There was a short silence before she spoke again, saying, "Trent, I wanted to thank
you for what you did, exposing what Noah was doing to me, and then, making me
think before I did something rash. You could have taken advantage of how
vulnerable I was in that moment, but you didn't, making me stop and think so I could
realize how wrong that would have been. I really appreciate that and I appreciate
your help. This is going to be tough but I'm determined to get through it."

"Melissa, we were in the same place at the time and it would have been wrong for
both of us. I'm in a better place now--at least a little better, including being away from
her-- and I'm glad to hear, if not hope, at least determination in your voice."

"Definitely. Still a long way to go, but definitely better than it was."

"Good."

I started to tell her if she ever needed to talk that she could call me, but I hesitated,
not sure about that. Her soon-to-be ex was a douchebag of the first order, but he
was that, first and foremost to her, not me. I was just collateral damage for him when
he took advantage of my ex's apparently open invitation but I still had plans for him,
too, so I kept my mouth shut and we wished each other luck before saying goodbye.

***

While the New Orleans job was going well, I was, based on Mr. Stricklin's orders,
also still providing oversight on the Baton Rouge job and was being called frequently
for advice on other projects. It wasn't long before I felt like I was, in Louisiana
parlance, in the swamp and up to my armpits in alligators.

George contributed to part of that a couple of weeks later when he called and
said, "Trent, got some news. Mrs. Jareau's lawyer has asked the judge to mandate
counseling. If he does that, you'll have to meet her face-to-face here in Atlanta for at
least a couple of sessions, maybe more. The judge will give you a window and you'll
have to appear here in town or it won't go well for you in the proceedings. What do
you want me to do?"

My blood was boiling that they'd use this tactic, but George had told me early on that
it was possible. "When we filed, we went with the minimum documentation on her
infidelity. You said we could hold onto the rest since it shouldn't be needed. It may be
needed now; what would happen if the judge saw that?"

"We'd have to give it to her attorney, but Judge Johnson might agree to quash the
request...if he doesn't have a stroke on seeing it."

"Warn him first then and do it."

A week later, Reagan's request for counseling was denied, though George said
Judge Johnson implied that she might want to do some counseling on her own for
her sex addiction problem.

And that was one alligator out of the swamp.

***

Over the next few months as Reagan and her attorney fought George and the
Georgia court, I kept a low profile, hoping that Reagan hadn't hired someone to find
me...or possibly take me out. Just in case on the latter, I had George redo my will
and I changed my life insurance policy to ensure that she wouldn't get a dime if
something were to happen to me.

However, once Mary Jo and Ozzie's kids got out of the hospital, I visited them for
dinner a couple of times and even babysat one evening so the lovebirds could get
out of the house for some peace and quiet. The twins were quiet for the first few
minutes after their parents left but then realized that something was going on and
they let me have it with all four lungs. As much as I wanted kids, I prayed afterward
that if the good Lord ever let me have any children, he'd let me have them one at a
time.

To my surprise, I also heard from Melissa Woolever a few times, checking in on how
my proceeding was going and essentially asking for strength and courage to get
through her own without ever saying the words. Because of Georgia law and divorce
code, George's warnings, and my own personal morals, I was careful not to ever
step over any lines that could be construed as--or twisted into--anything romantic or
potentially adulterous. As Melissa's case became more set, she apparently didn't
need me anymore so her texts stopped coming.

***

As Mary Jo's maternity leave wound down, I had a realtor looking for a home to
purchase. Using funds from my pre-Reagan account for the down payment, I closed
on a house in Dunwoody a few weeks prior to MJ's return. Having spent nearly three
months in the extended stay place at the company's expense, I was determined to
be more comfortable when I got home and be able to get my things out of storage.

The twins were doing well when Mary Jo's maternity leave ended, so she came back
to work for the last few months of the project. As I handed the reins back over to her,
I found myself leaving to return home with three regrets.

The first was that since we didn't currently have another project lined up in New
Orleans, MJ would be leaving our firm to become a stay-at-home mom for a while.
Ozzie, who had family in the area, had gotten a tenure-track position as an associate
professor at Loyola during their stay so it wasn't a surprise. However, MJ asked me
to keep her in mind if we had other work in the New Orleans area in the near future,
to which I readily agreed.

Second, with my return to Atlanta, I'd be leaving my unofficial godchildren and what
had become more frequent babysitting gigs for MJ and Ozzie behind. The babies
had apparently gotten used to me visiting and taking care of them sometimes on the
weekend so their parents could go out and I knew that I'd miss seeing them grow.
Taking care of them was a reminder of my own childless state due to the hell to
which Reagan had sentenced me.

Finally, Reagan had been fighting me over details on the divorce and it was dragging
on, though George Godwin assured me that Judge Johnson was getting as fed up
with it as I was and that the end of the case was near.

Therefore, when I returned to Atlanta, I moved right into the new house and started
unpacking and having some work done during a week of comp time. I met a few of
my new neighbors, too, including a cute divorcee just a few doors down.

Having a home once more gave me more freedom, but I was still legally tied to the
cheating slut, meaning that I couldn't start dating again without fear of upsetting the
proceedings. I thanked Noelle, the divorcee, for the plate of brownies but politely
took a raincheck when she suggested we get together sometime for dinner. Having
been through the divorce system before, I think she understood.

Ethan, who was forever looking for Miss Right and who didn't know anything about
the court system in Georgia, didn't understand. "So when are you going to put
yourself back out there?" he asked one day at lunch soon after I got back to Atlanta.

"When the judge says my divorce is final and I can be sure that romantic endeavors
and any fun that might result won't potentially contribute a single penny to Reagan's
settlement."

"That long, eh? So, how's the evil bitch doing these days?" he asked.

"Don't know and don't care."

"You know you still owe her. Big time."

I looked at my best friend and nodded. "I know. And she'll get it when the time
comes. Every single bit."

***

Judge Johnson finally had enough of Reagan's stalling and antics; he required that
we both be in the courtroom for final statements and presentations in early April, with
Reagan and her attorney on one side of the court and George and me on the other. I
arrived a few minutes early and was waiting for George when I saw Reagan turn a
corner, spot me, and head my way.

"Trent, this didn't have to be this way."

"I know, Reagan, but you couldn't live up to your part of our vows so it is what it is."

"You were gone so much--"

"Bullshit. You knew how much I'd be gone when you agreed to marry me. The three
times during our time together that I exceeded that amount, by a day each time, I
used comp time to more than make it up to you. Of course, I'm not counting that last
trip to Tampa and Orlando in those three since you made up for it yourself with your
boss and your other fuckbuddies while I was gone and after I got back."

She looked angrier than I'd ever seen her and tears streamed down her face. "Trent,
but I had needs. You know how much I needed sex."

She'd always wanted sex, even from our first date, seeking the orgasmic high like a
drug user looking for the next fix. However, I'd believed her when she promised that
she'd be able to control herself. I didn't know how long she'd succeeded, if she ever
had at all, and didn't really care, so I replied, "Don't give me that; I gave you the best
vibrator on the market to help tide you over while I was gone, and any number of
what you claimed, rather vocally at times, were 'the best fuck ever' both before and
afterward."

Reagan had noticed that several people were observing us, so she said, "Can we go
somewhere and talk through this?"

"No, I don't see the need. You see, we talked about all of this before we agreed to
marry and you promised that your wayfaring days were over since you wanted to get
married, settle down, and have a family. You got married, alright, but failed at that
and at the rest. Why don't you just live with that and let it go. I have. Of course, if you
can't, you can always get another therapist. Maybe this one will have more luck than
the other one."
She winced at my words and practically reeled when I pointed out her failures. The
number of people looking our way had grown so I left her standing there in tears,
mired in her frustration, when I saw George heading my way.

"Trent, please!" she called, but George and I headed into the courtroom, ignoring the
rest.

The judge had required that we both be there to sign the paperwork, probably to
keep Reagan from dragging it out even longer. He commented on the fact that it was
the first time he'd seen us together, leading to an outburst from Reagan, followed by
a miserable wail. Judge Johnson shut her up and then made her listen to his
pronouncement. When it was all over, the gavel fell, putting an end to it and our five-
year marriage.

I shook George's hand and thanked him after Judge Johnson left the courtroom, but
as I turned to walk away, Reagan started begging as she made her way toward me.
When I kept going, ignoring her, she began to scream at me, anger and obscenities
flowing. Most people know not to do that in the courtroom, and I'm sure Reagan did
too, but her anger got the best of her. I'm not sure if one of the court officers arrested
her or not, for George Godwin and I used the time to slip out. We'd had our talk, the
one she wanted so much, even though it probably hadn't gone as she wanted, and
that was plenty for me. I didn't care to ever speak with her again.

George set out to assure that. With her public display, George filed for a restraining
order the next day and Judge Johnson readily agreed.

I couldn't have arranged it any better if I'd tried. With the restraining order in place,
Reagan would stay out of my hair, whether she wanted to be or not. I almost hoped
she wouldn't; a brief stay in the Iron Bar Inn might do her some good.

She was too smart for that, though, gone from my life and out of my view, so that
next weekend I started dating again, calling in the rain-checked date with Noelle.
She was nice but it was soon obvious that we had little in common, other than a very
long dry spell. When I took her home, she pulled me inside and I didn't resist.
Moments later, we were in her bedroom undressing each other. Kissing and
caressing led to fucking, fast and furious the first time and slower and more sensual
the second.

We were both grinning after the second time, with Noelle snuggling against me.

"Trent, we can do this again sometime, if you'd like," she said, confirming my
suspicion from dinner, that she wasn't looking for anything long term, much less
anything permanent. I thanked her with a kiss and headed down the street for home
just minutes later.

Noelle and I remained casual friends but we never got together again. I went out with
another woman the following weekend, and then another in Birmingham during a trip
the following week.

I felt drained (often in more ways than one) following each date when I realized that,
despite the pleasure of the moment, I was getting nowhere close to my goal of
finding the right woman. I wanted a friend, a lover, and a lifetime companion,
someone with whom I could eventually start a family. Over the next two months, I
began to have doubts that would ever happen, that I'd ever have any success finding
long-term happiness.

Still, short-term happiness was fairly frequent and quite pleasurable until
Independence Day weekend while visiting my parents and watching my sister, her
husband, and their four kids. Mom, knowing me better than I suspected, told me that
afternoon that I'd probably never give her and Dad any grandchildren if I didn't make
a change.

"I know, Mom. I've bought a house and am fixing it up--"

"Trent, a house doesn't make a home. A man and a good woman--not one of the
floozies you've been dating--can if they work at it. Son, what you need is to find a
good woman."

"I know that, Mom, and I will someday; I'll find one. Just give me time."

She huffed. "If we keep giving you more time, your father and I will be dead by then
and we'll never meet our grandchildren."
She was teasing, at least partially, but it still made me think.

***

One evening in late July, I received a text message.

Hi Trent, it's Melissa Woolever. Can you talk sometime when you have a moment?

Quite honestly, I was surprised to hear from her again after so long. I finished
cleaning my paint sprayer and then sent her a brief reply to call when she could. She
did, just moments later.

"Hi Trent, thanks for agreeing to talk to me."

"No problem, Melissa. How are things going for you?"

"We haven't spoken in a long time and that's part of the reason I was hesitant to
send the message tonight. I wasn't sure if, considering all that happened, if you'd
want to talk to me again."

I laughed. "Unless you've had an active part in my ex-wife and your husband
getting--"

"Ex-husband, as of today," she interjected.

"--together, then I don't hold you responsible for anything that happened between
them or for the disaster they created so I have no reason not to talk to you."

"Good, because I swear, I had nothing to do with it."

"I never thought you did. So what's up?"

"Well, it's taken longer than expected but, like I said, I'm finally free at last--I even
have my maiden name, Ortiz, again--and I wanted to thank you for your help. You
opened my eyes to what the bastard was doing, you gave me the proof at no charge
so I didn't have to spend money I couldn't afford to get it, and then gave me advice
on what I needed to do. I went with another attorney, but you were a big help, Trent,
and I appreciate it."

"You're quite welcome, so don't give it another thought, okay?"

"That's hard, Trent, because you...you were my, well, guiding light, my inspiration, if
you will, when I was so low and so down. I don't know you well, at all, but I like what
you did and what I've seen so far so I'm going to take a chance and do something
I've never done before as a result. Would you have dinner with me?"

***

It was a very nice dinner but I spent the evening looking at her, thinking how sweet
and beautiful she was, and how her ex-husband had to be the biggest idiot in the
world to step out on her rather than thinking about what we were eating.
True, Reagan was equally beautiful and had her own particular brand of hotness, but
having learned of her secret dark side, the side that would betray the person she
was supposed to love more than any other, her former 11 rating had sunk to
negative numbers.

At least in my eyes.

"You're staring," she said with a grin. "Almost as much as me."

I chucked as I nodded. "It's fun to really focus when you have someone so nice to
focus on."

She blushed, putting her hand over mouth to hide how much she liked my
compliment.

"Do you want to get out of here? And...maybe...go back to my place?"

"I think I'd like that."

She leaned forward and kissed me, right over the middle of our little table, and I left
cash for our meal and the tip rather than having to wait for our server to run my card.
We went arm in arm like new lovers, taking a bit of a break from our journey on
reaching my SUV.

Melissa's arms were around my neck pulling me down and close as her tongue
darted into my mouth. Her pelvis pressed against mine, making my hardness that I'd
been trying to hide quite obvious. She moaned as I responded, my arms around her,
holding her close.

Her right hand slid down my chest and covered my heart; I suspect she could feel it
pounding in my chest. When I put my hand on her side, she laced her other hand
over it and pulled it up under her breast, causing me to cup her, her to moan, and me
to give a moan of my own at the nice, soft fullness. It felt great.

She whispered, "Please, Trent, get me home...or somewhere. Now. I need this and I
can't wait."

Minutes later as we turned onto her street, she reached into her purse and drew out
her phone. "Pull in the garage," she said. "The door's open."

We'd barely made it in when I heard the door closing and we were kissing again,
right there in the car. Melissa's hand was undoing my belt when I suggested,
"Inside?"

"Yes," she moaned. "Inside. Inside me. Quickly. I need you, Trent."

I jumped out and ran around to open the door for her but found she wasn't waiting.
She was out and in my arms so I scooped her up and carried her in the house. She
got the lock undone and shoved the door open before telling me which way to get to
the stairs.
Her shoes came off somewhere along the way but I didn't notice. We were kissing
the whole way so I could barely see where I was going.

"My room's there at the end," she said between kisses, so I followed her directions
and put her down on the bed moments later.

She pulled me down next to her and was practically ripping my clothes from my body
and I followed her lead by doing the same. When her bra went flying, I must admit to
having been distracted for a bit, taking her breasts in my hands, kissing her softness,
and sucking a pink nipple into my mouth.

Melissa cried out, "Don't stop!" so I didn't, making sweet love to her beautiful titties
with my lips and tongue and hands as she ground her mound against my hardness.

I'm not sure what did it, whether it was from the breast play or from her clit rubbing
against me, but she was moaning "Oh my God!" over and over again as she came. I
realized then that she had the bottom of her dress pulled up like the top was pulled
down and that my pants were undone and unzipped so her thin, silky panties and my
underwear were all that lay between us. She appeared to be catching her breath so I
moved to her side and lay my hand on her tummy, rubbing it gently when her hand
caught mine and pushed it down to cup her sex.

Her panties felt soaked so I was grinning when she finally got her eyes open to look
at me. "Thank you, Trent. You can take those off me, you know."

Instead of doing so, I rubbed over her mound and pubic bone, catching her clit
through the silk and down to run my finger deep through her soft lips, causing her to
moan and say, "Please?"

I did it again and her plea turned to begging. "Please, Trent, take them off me and
fuck me. I need you."

I kissed her, cupping her breast for a few moments before reaching down and
catching one side of her panties, pushing them down. She squirmed, lifting to allow
them to come off and then she shimmied them on down her shapely legs to send
them flying.

Her hand was on my boxer briefs, pulling on them and succeeding in getting them
down so my dick popped out, ready for action. Just like her bra going had distracted
me, this drew her attention and she was pumping me with her oh-so-soft hands. That
sent a shiver through me, the anticipation of what was to come making me leak.

Seeing the precum on my tip, she grinned and said, "I think someone's ready. Do
you have--

I'd snagged a condom from my pocket before losing my pants and fortunately. She
ripped open the wrapper and rolled it down me as I throbbed, dying to be in her.

A moment later, she lay back, a look of abject desire and open need on her face as I
positioned myself above her and she directed me into her midst. We were kissing as
I slid inside, slow and steady, a bit at a time until we met, flesh against flesh. Melissa
moaned and said, "Now, Trent, make love to me."
That first dance of love was slow and rhythmic at the beginning. I rose up a bit so I
could see her, the concentration on her face and the anticipation in her heart. Her
arms and legs were around me, making me push deep, and her moans were as
rhythmic as our thrusts against each other. It wasn't long before they changed,
becoming faster as her face set in determination to ride her rising orgasm. I felt it too,
that sweet buildup, slow at first but becoming ever stronger as we neared
completion.

Melissa was fighting it, her eyes screwed shut and her moans becoming almost
continuous. She bit her lip, fighting it until the end when she gave a great groan as
she came. It was all I could do to hold it until then, but when she went, it pushed me
over the edge and I exploded into her, spurt after spurt filling the condom as she
quivered around me.

I slumped down over her, our bodies touching but most of my weight still in my knees
and elbow. Melissa's breasts were against my chest and the sides of our faces
grazed lightly before I turned a bit and kissed her. She moaned, kissing me back.
When her eyes opened as our lips parted, her smile was joyous and serene, the look
of someone well-loved.

"Oh, Trent. I've been wanting to do that with you since the day you first came to my
office. I haven't had sex since before that, and thinking of what it might be like with
you every day helped keep me going. And you know what? It was even better, much
better, than I ever imagined."

The feeling of euphoria had me well in its grip and her sweet words made it even
better. I would have gladly stayed there for a while but I suddenly realized I was
softening and needed to get out before we had a leak and a potential accident.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered in reply, "and that was far better than anything I
could have ever imagined. For now though, I need to--"

She nodded, understanding, as she gave me a smile. I was out of her a moment
later, stripping and tying it off as she rolled out of bed and made a beeline for the
bathroom. It was pretty dark in the bedroom, with only a single light on her
nightstand, but that glow lit her magnificent backside, toned perfectly either by a
great exercise regimen or else, maybe, the world's luckiest genes.

***

Other than for water and quick trips to the bathroom when needed, we never left the
bed that night, making love twice more before sleep finally took us. Then, we woke
up to do it again the next morning. I was thankful that it was a Saturday and that I
didn't have to go to work, for as far as I was concerned, I could see staying with her
forever. So demure in everyday life, she'd been a tiger during parts of our loving and
an insatiable, unstoppable bunny during others. She fell asleep after our morning
tryst, so I eased out and went to the bathroom.

On the way out, morning light streamed through the open curtain on the window and
I got my first real look at her bedroom. Our clothes were scattered around, making
me smile at the memory of our need. I also smiled at the queen-size bed, the only
item with which I was familiar, its pile of pillows somewhat diminished by all those
that had been knocked off on the floor. Grinning, I picked one up and put it back on
the bed, thinking how we'd used a couple of them to prop Melissa up during some of
our lovemaking.

The nightstand on the right, her side of the bed, had also rescued and extended that
lovemaking since I'd run out of condoms after the first two times.

A TV sat on a stand near a recliner; it was angled so she could see it in bed if
desired, but it was Melissa's dresser that drew my attention. There were a number of
photos on it so I gave them a quick glance before they caused me to stop. It
probably wasn't the polite thing to do but I looked at one and picked it up to get a
closer look.

"Trent, whatcha doing?" asked Melissa from the bed.

"Melissa? Who's the little girl in these photos?"

"That's my daughter, Ansley. She's three and she means the world to me."

Her words surprised me, startled me even, and I said, "You've never mentioned her
to me."

"I didn't want her involved in the mess with Noah so I tried to protect her as much as
I could, but she turned out to be the main sticking point in our divorce. That's why it
took so long to finalize. Trent, I don't want you meeting each other unless we decide
we're serious, that there really might be something between us."

"Where is she now?" I was trying to keep my voice steady, but I think it may have
gone up an octave.

"She's with him this weekend. Why? Is something wrong?"

I liked her so much but this was a surprise, a shock even, and what it meant...well, I
wasn't sure.

"Melissa...I don't know. I like you. I like you a lot," I admitted, going against my usual
tendency to go slow. "Considering how long we've known each other, I like you a lot
more than I probably should...but if there's one person in this world that I dislike as
much as my ex-wife...well, it's your ex-husband. Six of one, half dozen of the other is
the way my grandma would have termed that matchup.

"I've told you that I really want kids, so you can imagine that I'd want to be involved in
your daughter's life if things were to work out between us. But let's think about that
for a moment. If I go to her soccer game or piano recital, her cheer practice, her
school dance, or whatever, who else is going to be there?"

"Noah," she breathed, starting to get my point. "He's a lying, cheating asshole, but
he does love her."

"Exactly. And every time I see him at one of those events, whatever it is, it's going to
be a reminder of what he did with my ex and what he helped do to my marriage. I'd
resent the hell out of him and, I think, that Ansley, while she wouldn't understand,
would realize there was something, some tension, between us. She'd eventually
come to resent me for that, Melissa, which would damage whatever relationship I
could have with her and would damage our relationship, yours and mine, in turn as a
result. As much as it pains me to say it, I think that would destroy whatever we have
together over time."

She was sitting up, clutching the sheet over her breasts. Almost at a whisper, she
said, understanding, "You're saying that there's no future for us."

"As much as I'd love to try and be proven wrong, no, I don't think there is," I agreed.

She nodded as tears streamed down her eyes. "I thought this was too easy, too
perfect. Now I know it was. Please, Trent, just go." She touched her phone a couple
of times and added, "The garage door will be up for you."

She fell back down in the bed and pulled the sheet up around her as she cried. I
grabbed my clothes and dressed in the hallway on the way out, with me hating
myself every step of the way almost as much as I hated her ex-husband.

***

It hurt but I knew in my heart that it was true.

I went to see my parents later that day. I gave them the brief, sanitized version, but
they both knew there was more than I was saying, and that what I was feeling was
hurting me a lot more than I wanted to admit. Mom tried to get more out of me but I
shook my head and told her that it would never work. Mom, being Mom, gave me a
long, motherly hug, patting my back and telling me it would be okay.

As much as I wanted to believe it, I didn't see it at the time.

We met my sister and her family for lunch after church on Sunday. There was a long
wait for a table at the restaurant so she dragged me off to the side and made me spill
the beans. She was two years older than me and had helped me through a number
of failed crushes when I was in high school so I opened up and told her most of it but
without any of the bedroom action, though I suspect she guessed that part.

"I can see how that would be tough," she said afterward, "but I think you could make
it if you tried and found that you really love her. One date doesn't tell you much and if
you had more, you might realize there's not nearly as much there as you seem to
think, but it might also prove to you that there is. And that fighting for it is worth it. If
you will."

"Thanks, sis, and you're right, that one date doesn't tell all, but it told me enough to
know that it would hurt a lot more to get closer to her and then see it doomed to
failure by the past."

"Listen, little brother. You won't know that for certain unless you try."
I nodded and agreed to give it some thought. Our table was called then so we didn't
speak of it anymore, but it stayed on my mind for the rest of the trip home and over
the days that followed.
Ethan understood better than anyone and agreed with my thoughts on the matter,
but it was on the way home from a trip to a plant site near LaGrange that I started
wondering about that. Considering Ethan's luck with women, was having him
agreeing with me really such a good thing?

He set us up with a couple of women the following weekend. We all had a fun time,
and it wasn't long before I put it out of my mind.

***

During the divorce, Reagan had wanted to keep our home as part of the settlement
so I had George resist, forcing the sale since she couldn't afford the buyout without
giving up a lot of other things she wanted.

That was rather petty and cruel but I figured it was karma, considering the
circumstances, and I didn't lose a moment's sleep over it.

Since I didn't want to get taken to the cleaners, I also had George involved as my
representative in the sale. He and Reagan's attorney knew each other from years
before so they were on speaking terms, unlike Reagan and me, and George found
out that Reagan was in the midst of purchasing a condo. A short time later, I heard a
rumor through the grapevine that Reagan and Noah were marrying.

On hearing the news, I immediately called George since it had a potential effect on
my finances. During our divorce case, George had argued to the judge that no
support should be granted since Reagan was the cheater and I was the aggrieved
party, but the judge took our relative incomes into account and awarded her a small
monthly amount for five years or until she remarried, whichever came first. I think
that was the only point George lost in our settlement, but even that amount was
smaller than he predicted. If she really remarried...

"I'll check into it and let you know. If it's true, we'll get the support stopped." said
George.

"Yeah, and if it's true, it just goes to show some people never learn," I said in
disbelief, thinking of them being together and what that would mean, even as it
further validated my decision about breaking things off with Melissa.

"Nope," George laughed. "That's what keeps me in business."

And, I thought, It gives me an option I'd thought about early in my divorce but never
believed would actually be possible.

***

On learning of their marriage, I made it a point to reach out to a friend in Reagan's

firm. Will Kliner and I had been acquaintances in college and had reconnected when
I started dating Reagan and discovered that he worked for her firm in a different
department.

Reagan and I had gone out with Will and his wife a few times while we were dating
and were married, but Will and I hadn't seen each other since before the divorce
started. Therefore, we got together for lunch one day soon afterward when I wasn't
on the road.

When I told him what had happened, Will replied, "That's awful. I'm sorry, Trent. I
heard that Woolever had requested a transfer to a different department. Now it
makes sense; they're avoiding any conflicts with our human resources department."

"So you guys have an official policy on things like that?"

"Sure. They can get in big trouble if they violate it, and can potentially get the firm in
trouble too."

"Will, I hate to ask this but do you think you can get me a copy of that section of your
HR manual?"

"Yes, just don't tell anyone where you got it."

I got a date the following Saturday and we met Will and Lori Kliner for a Braves
game. Will handed me a flash drive that night and a few days later, I went to see
George to talk to him about all of it.

"Trent, I'm sorry. While that's what their policy says, even if you can prove they knew
Noah Woolever was screwing every woman under him," he said, laughing at his own
wording, "that doesn't give you standing to sue due to the way the state law is
written. With the interest in making sex between willing partners less of a potential
crime, the state legislature got rid of alienation of affection in Georgia back in '79,
about the time I went out on my own. That keeps one partner from suing someone
else for attracting, or distracting, the other one. That includes the firms that employ
them."

"Damn." While I didn't care about the money, I was hoping that punishing the firm
financially would cause them to punish Noah, and, if I was lucky, Reagan too.

He smiled. "Many a potential plaintiff has said that word or a whole lot worse on
learning that fact. What it means is that no one can sue them over it, except maybe
in very limited circumstances where the firm was positively informed, with proper
documentation, of what was happening and nothing was done about it. In that case,
someone who was taken advantage of by the serial abuser might be allowed to have
their day in court but the plaintiff's chance of winning a significant amount is severely
limited, so much so that most attorneys worth their salt wouldn't touch such a case
with a ten-foot pole."

I sighed, repeating, "Damn."

He laughed. "Hey, don't give up hope. Let's take care of the spousal support issue
first, and we can talk about other options a little way down the road."
The following week, George was at the courthouse filing the new motion. With proof
that Reagan and Asshole's marriage license had been filed, George asked that
spousal support be ended since it was no longer necessary or appropriate in
accordance with our divorce decree. Reagan's attorney vehemently opposed the
motion, of course, and our suspicion that the reason the marriage license was filed
well away from Atlanta was to prevent our discovering it and avoiding us making the
very motion to dismiss support that George was now filing.

Judge Johnson agreed with us, waving off Reagan's objections, and I was off the
hook for the monthly amount that had been in my craw ever since he'd required it.
However, when I brought up the second issue, George looked at me, shook his
head, and wagged a finger at me.

"Patience, Trent. Patience."

***

Six months later, George Godwin called me and we got together for lunch a few days
later.

"Trent, the reason I suggested you wait is that newlyweds need time to get to know
each other, and in a case like this, where Noah has moved to another department in
the same firm, he's going to be very careful for a while. He needs time to get his
bearings...and find a new mark, right about the time a little of the shine's starting to
come off that new marriage. Based on what you told me and what I've seen of such
guys in the past, I'm guessing now would be a good time to do some checking."

It took two weeks but Dawna Hightower and one of her investigators proved that just
like tigers not changing their stripes or leopards not changing their spots or whatever
that old saying is, serial cheaters don't stop cheating. Noah Woolever was getting it
on with one of his new underlings so George took the information, put it in a nice
package, and went to see one of his attorney friends.

"We don't want this coming back to you, Trent, because if whoever takes over for
Judge Johnson sees your involvement if Mr. Woolever were to, say, lose his job. In
that case, Mrs. Woolever might be able to file for reinstatement of spousal support
due to your actions affecting her current spouse."

"I'm not sure where she's going to find out about it because I'm sure as hell not
telling her and if anything happens to Noah the Asshole, I suspect he won't tell her
the true reason behind it."

George was grinning as he shook his finger at me. "Sneaky, sneaky! And so true."

George's attorney friend delivered the package to Noah's firm. I found out through
my friend Will that Noah was escorted out by security the same afternoon and the
rumor was that he wouldn't be welcomed back. Word was that Reagan was crying
when she learned of it, asking why, but that no one was telling.

"Take that, asshole," I said after the call ended. "If I keep this up, I run the risk of
becoming a bitter old man."
Grinning to only myself, I knew it was a risk I was willing to take.

***

Not wanting my name associated with it in case Reagan were to find out and take it
to the judge to try to get my spousal support reinstated, I overnighted a package
anonymously that same day and the next evening, I received a phone call.

"Trent!" cried Melissa Ortiz, "I know you may never want to speak with me again but
I had to call to tell you. Noah called last night and told me that he'd been laid off from
his firm--corporate cutbacks, he said--and that he was going to be filing for reduced
alimony as a result. I called a friend from the firm and heard that the rumor in the
firm is that he was fired. Then today, I received an express package, an anonymous
express package, mind you, that probably explains it and should allow the judge to
keep my spousal support steady when Noah files his request. Trent, I'm guessing
that I know who to thank for this. So, to that person, I say 'thank you.'"

I chuckled. "Hmm...I'm guessing that if you spoke to the right person about it, he
would say you're quite welcome if he were in a position to admit doing it. As for what
was in the package, can we say that some people never learn?"

"I'm guessing Noah will give the judge a sad song about his poor plight, and then
when my attorney hands the judge this information in response, I'm hoping the judge
throws those very words at him. He just remarried for Christ's sake! I wonder if he
started wandering that fast when we married?"

"Melissa, don't think like that. That's in the past, so keep it there. Just smile and
enjoy your life, okay? You deserve it."

We said goodbye for what I suspected would be the last time.

With that, I smiled. For the first time in a long, long time, I felt free. I'd come through
the gauntlet, I'd survived, and though some might disagree, I'd given back just as
much hell and heartache as Reagan and Noah had put me through, taking it as far
as I dared but not a bit too far. While she was probably cheating again too, I'd helped
leave Reagan in a much worse financial situation in a condo instead of a nice home
and with an out-of-work husband who was paying child support and alimony through
the nose. In addition, I knew she was in a relationship where she was being regularly
cheated on by her spouse but I didn't bother telling her, similar to how she'd not told
me what she'd done to me. I'd tried to provide the best for her and keep her happy,
but now I suspected that she had more worries than she could count.

Yes, I'd struck back at each of them but had no regrets. Not a single damn one.

In fact, as I went over it in my mind, I realized that I was no longer calling them the
derogatory names that had been ever present in my mind. Having taken my
retribution, I no longer had to think of them again at all or to care what they might
think.

And that realization led to the biggest smile of all.

***
The smile didn't last though because over the next few weeks I made one last
discovery, this one the hardest of all.

As much as I thought I'd evened the score with Reagan and with Noah, to my
surprise, I found that they still had a major hold over me. When I thought I might
have found a chance of happiness with Melissa, I'd given up that chance because of
the memory of what my ex and Melissa's ex had done, of the embarrassment they'd
caused me and, I'm sure, her. I'd been on quite a few dates and had sex with a
number of women since then, but I found it increasingly clear that I never cared
about any of it after the rush of my orgasm faded.

Melissa, I finally realized, was still in the back of my mind, as much present in it as
any thoughts of Reagan and Noah. While I'd struck back and gotten my pound of
flesh, I still wasn't free of them as long as I cared what they might think about
anything whatsoever. Only when I could look at them and laugh, saying, "Look at
what you gave up and what I have a chance of getting as a result. Thank you for
being so stupid," would I truly be free.

That's when it became clear to me and I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Picking
up the phone, I sorted back through my recent calls and found the number she'd
called from on the day she received the file with Noah's latest philandering. I hit the
number to call back and hoped she would pick up.

Moments later, she did.

"Hi, Melissa. It's Trent Jareau. Can we talk for a moment?"

"Trent, you recently helped me again when you didn't have to. I'm listening."

"Something came to me tonight, an epiphany, if you will, and, if I'm not too late and
you'll let me, I'd like to talk to you about it to see if there's a chance I can make a
change."

There was silence on the line, though I thought I heard breathing, so I continued.
"Despite recommending to you to let the past go, I've realized that I've been so
focused on the past and on what happened to ruin my life as I knew it that I couldn't
see that I was looking at things backward instead of forward. I want to beg your
forgiveness for that and, if you'll consider it, I'd like to have a chance to try to make
things right. If you'll let me."

.***

Again, she didn't stop me so as I spoke to her that evening, I could practically hear
Melissa nodding her head over the cell line at my realization. To my relief, she wasn't
dating anyone new, and to my surprise, she agreed to let us start over so we could
see where things would go and whether we might be as compatible over time as
we'd been together that first wonderful night.

We went on another "first date" the following weekend with good, and firmly stated,
intentions of taking things slowly, but sometimes "things" have ideas of their own.
She invited me in when I walked her to her front door. She got glasses and I poured
wine before we had a seat on her couch and talked until after eleven. When I
suggested it was getting late, we kissed goodnight but the kiss didn't end as
expected.

The effect she and our actions were having on me was quite obvious, despite my
intentions. Lying mostly on top of me, she smiled and ran her hand over my
hardness before looking me in my eyes and whispering, "Trent, if you won't complain
about that slow nonsense we talked about earlier, I won't either if you take me to my
bedroom."

We were both laughing as I carried her upstairs and gently set her down by her bed.
We removed each other's clothing and then I eased her down on the sheet. She
pulled me down beside her and, after giving me a little kiss and a condom, then
threw a leg over me to climb atop.

Our kissing continued, but now I had more targets as I alternated between her lips,
her neck, her shoulder, and her wonderful titties, giving her nipples kisses and sucks
that made them hard and made her moan.

Melissa was busy too, though, squirming her pelvis, rubbing her hot, wet pussy
against my throbbing dick, sliding up and down it to send shivers through my body
even as I looked forward to sliding it into her. Each time she did her slide, I tried to
arch a little more, hoping as I got closer and closer, to find heaven. When I bucked a
bit on her next pass, she beamed at me as the head of my dick pushed into her and
then deeper on her next.

Long and slow we went, letting our buildup take its time as we loved, our bodies
touching, my dick plowing her depths, and her pussy gripping me with each pass,
and my breathing and her moans being the music for our dance. Seeing sweat start
to bead on her forehead, from her efforts and her concentration, made me smile
even more that I'd found her and that I had a second chance with her despite my
former petty stubbornness.

When Melissa started to tire, I felt more of her weight resting on me so I eased her
over and climbed back in. We resumed our lovemaking for a bit but I sped up over
time as her moans started to become shorter and faster. On and on I drove, harder,
faster, and full depth until her expression told me she was almost there. It became a
sprint at that point, her head arching back as she felt her rise. I was there too, feeling
that building that announced my coming release. Then it happened, with Melissa
moaning as she fell back on the bed, her body spasming as I saw stars and felt
myself explode into her.

We lay holding each other afterward but no words were spoken. It was too soon
considering this was just our second "first date," but I knew in my heart that I hoped
things would work out between us and I thought, from the way she was looking at
me, that she just might feel the same way.

Some minutes later after a bit of cleanup, we were back in bed holding each other.
She was laying partly across my chest looking into my eyes when she said, "Trent,
you don't have to go. I mean, you can stay, if you'd like."
I grinned back at her for a moment and then leaned up and kissed her.

"I'd like that. In fact, I'd like that very much."

***

While we did hit some bumps in the months that followed, we found ourselves to be
in agreement on far more, and on far more of the important things, than we might
have guessed, and that a lot of the little things really didn't matter when two people
liked each other enough.

Though I thought so after our second chance date, I liked her more with each
passing meeting and eventually admitting to myself that it really had been far more
than "like" since almost the beginning.

Melissa came to the same conclusion and we started planning and cooperating so
we could have a future together. That's what we both wanted so we married about a
little over a year after we finally decided to give it another try.

When the time came, little Ansley served as our flower girl and Melissa and I said
our "I dos" together and actually meant them. As I'd originally feared, we've run into
Noah a few times since then, but things didn't go exactly as I'd originally feared.

The first time was actually close, when he started to make a snide remark to me
about "accepting seconds" but I cut him off.

Barely above a whisper where only Noah could hear, I said, "Noah, thank you so
much for taking Reagan, the cheating whore, off my hands. If you think she'll be any
more faithful to you than she was to me, you're even dumber than I think. And thank
you for making it possible for me to be with Melissa, a true gem of a woman that you
weren't bright enough to be faithful to and to do everything in your power to keep.
Believe me, I got the better end of the bargain by far."

He almost choked on that and balled his fists in anger before realizing that I could
have taken him apart if he hit me. Seeing reason just in time and saving both Ansley
and him from major pain, he turned and went back over to see his little daughter. He
picked her up and kissed her, whispering something to her before putting her back
down and telling Melissa goodnight. It was a few months later when he let it slip to
her that he was embroiled in the midst of his own divorce from Reagan and that he
finally realized what I'd said was true.

When he started to make a suggestion, she shut him down cold. "It's too bad you
only realized that after it's far too late, Noah. Don't ever mention it again."

In the times we've met since then, Noah has never said another word to me about it,
but I still see a hint of regret in his eyes when he sees us together.

And I always smile.

***

Present day
Ansley's now six and she's currently at her Ortiz grandparents' house while I'm
holding Melissa's hand as she squeezes mine like there's no tomorrow. When the
doctor orders, Melissa gives one last push.

Finally done, she falls back and I kiss her sweat-drenched forehead as the doctor
and nurse work just beyond the end of the delivery bed. The OBGYN looks up at us
a moment later and says as she smiles, "Mr. and Mrs. Jareau, congratulations! I
know you didn't choose to learn in advance so let me be the first to tell you that you
have a fine little baby boy."
And with that, all of the trials and troubles getting to this point were worth it and I
realized, as hard as it had been, I wouldn't have changed a single thing.

The End